Chapter 21: The Weight of a Name

In the past, Shin Ji-ho had been a child who loved attending school, unlike most of his peers. However, each time an inexplicable illness afflicted him, Ji-ho was forced to endure hospitalization instead of attending classes. Gazing out from his hospital room, Shin Ji-ho often felt himself lagging behind others. A chilling thought would then creep in: perhaps he would remain forever in their wake.

The ailment that plagued Ji-ho bore no name. He would suffer from an unknown high fever, yet simultaneously shiver with chills, and feel his body agonizingly splinter and crush. With even the cause of his illness a mystery, despair was a natural companion.

He yearned for health, refusing to be branded as a frail, pitiable child. He abhorred the thought of being understood with the dismissive phrase, ‘Because Ji-ho is weak.’ Thus, he strived with fierce determination. He never knew when he might collapse, and even an ordinary moment could prove to be his last.

Fortunately, though physically weak, Ji-ho had been raised in an otherwise abundant environment. Surrounded by his family’s love, he found the courage to cast aside his fears and press onward. Even if he couldn’t join them in kicking a ball on the playground, everyone readily befriended Ji-ho. He, in turn, devoted his utmost effort to everything within his capabilities.

His daily life had always been joyful and fulfilling. Yet, whenever he was suddenly struck by an unknown high fever or agonizing pain, forcing him into the hospital, a heavy, unfamiliar weight would surge within him, piercing his vulnerable core.

Hospitalization was a period utterly devoid of hope.

‘You’ll never make it.’

‘You won’t ever be like everyone else.’

As his body weakened, his spirit invariably followed. Thoughts that would typically never cross his mind now descended upon Ji-ho with crushing despair.

‘Don’t try too hard.’

A voice, long buried in his old memories, resurfaced. A familiar, yet slightly younger, voice whispered softly and low. A hand, usually warmer than his own but now feeling cool against his feverish skin, gently wiped away the hot tears streaming down his face.

‘You don’t have to struggle. You’re perfectly fine just as you are.’

‘Don’t pity me…’

‘This isn’t pity.’

The voice resurfaced with such startling clarity it was hard to believe he had forgotten it for so long.

Joo Yi-won had been different that day. His voice, typically preoccupied with teasing and provoking Ji-ho, was now calm and subdued, caressing him with a comforting tone. Along with it, memories of that particular moment came flooding back, one after another.

The weather had been beautiful that day. Through the wide-open window, clear sunlight streamed in, accompanied by a refreshing breeze. It had rained the day before, leaving the sky cloudless and bright, yet watching the joyous people outside had made him feel particularly wretched.

Joo Yi-won had been wearing his sweat-soaked school uniform. He had rushed to the hospital to see Ji-ho, skipping lunch to do so. Even though their meeting would only last a mere ten to fifteen minutes, Joo Yi-won had made the effort to dash all the way there.

Why had he gone to such lengths?

‘Ji-ho. I…’

Ji-ho couldn’t recall the exact words of comfort. He merely pressed a hand to his faintly throbbing forehead. Was it mere pity for a frail friend? Or perhaps a sense of responsibility, given how Ji-ho had looked after him?

After his parents’ passing, Joo Yi-won had been destined for an orphanage. However, thanks to Ji-ho, he was instead taken in by Shin Jung-ho. Even with the kind treatment, Yi-won was essentially living under their roof. Perhaps he had been overly mindful of his position, taking extra care of Ji-ho out of a subconscious sense of obligation.

A pang of sympathy for the past Joo Yi-won briefly struck him, but that was all ancient history now. Now, Ji-ho was no longer ill, he was poised to transcend his insufficient B-class status, and, most importantly, Joo Yi-won had become the most exceptional person in the entire world.

Folding away the briefly recalled memory, Ji-ho checked his watch. The predicted time was now drawing near. Expelling all extraneous thoughts, Ji-ho turned to face his companions.

The gazes of his guild members, who trusted him—or at least followed him for now—converged. This was a moment to focus on the situation, not on idle thoughts. Ji-ho calmly took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Since Hunter Yang Ho-jin is new, I’ll reiterate: all consumable items will be expensed, so feel free to use them generously. The Hunter Association advises minimizing property damage, but lives always take precedence.”

“Be careful around anything that could cause an explosion. For other objects, if push comes to shove, either use your skills or utilize them as cover. A barrier mage is currently defending the entire area, so most things won’t break easily, and the Association even has teams dedicated to urban recovery.”

“Oh, um. Are we truly allowed to do that?”

Shin Ji-ho offered a wry smile to Yang Ho-jin, who had asked with a hint of hesitation.

“Of course. It might sound brazen, but our lives are paramount, aren’t they?”

“But I heard that if we destroy things, the Association will look down on us… that being blacklisted could lead to disadvantages…”

Just as expected of a new hunter, Yang Ho-jin seemed to have scoured the internet for every ominous tale imaginable.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Perhaps there is…”

“While I’m not colluding with the Hunter Association as the rumors suggest, I do know a few people within it, so I can confirm. There’s nothing of the sort; the Association only cares about performance.”

“Performance…”

Yang Ho-jin’s voice trailed off, almost inaudible, betraying his lack of confidence.

“For support-type Hunters like you, Hunter Yang Ho-jin, providing excellent assistance to combat-type Hunters is your performance. And with Hunter Im Seung-ju and Hunter Heo So-ri here, both highly skilled, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, am I included in that?”

Heo So-ri beamed, delighted to be grouped with Im Seung-ju. Conversely, Seung-ju seemed slightly displeased, yet he remained silent, perhaps because Shin Ji-ho wasn’t the one speaking.

“Of course you are. Now, returning to our previous topic… South Korea is one of the safest nations from rifts in the entire world, isn’t it? Our government is pouring all its efforts into maintaining that safety.”

The most crucial indicator of a safe nation is its casualty count. If even a single civilian death occurs, the Hunter Association is the first to face severe repercussions. Thus, they certainly won’t be disfavored for saving lives, even if it means some buildings or roads are damaged.

Naturally, they would prefer no damage at all.

“Of course, it’s always best to avoid wanton destruction. But when your life is on the line, do not hesitate for the sake of minimizing property damage. Though, Hunter Yang Ho-jin, being a support-type, won’t likely be in a position to break anything anyway.”

“Yes, I’ll do my best…”

Yang Ho-jin replied, his voice still subdued but imbued with a touch more courage than before.

“Then, let’s assume our positions.”

Im Seung-ju, who had been listening intently, spoke. The predicted time was now imminent. Shin Ji-ho nodded, drawing out Tuia’s Staff, which he had acquired just a week prior, and once more confirmed his status window.

[Status]

[There are fluctuations in your stats due to skill usage.]

[The magic already stored via the staff’s [Magic Storage] option amounts to 1962, which includes correction values for your maximum magic capacity.]

While his inherent mana of 1962 was already remarkably high, this particular defense battle also served as an opportunity to test his skills. Thus, Shin Ji-ho had gathered additional mana.

[Sphere of Absorption.]

As he murmured the simple activation phrase, mana began to converge upon Ji-ho from his surroundings. Mana permeated everything. Shin Ji-ho found he could absorb it even from shattered bricks or heaps of refuse.

Naturally, living beings proved to be the most abundant source of mana. Through his experiments, Shin Ji-ho discovered that [Sphere of Absorption] could not draw mana from Awakened individuals. However, it could gently siphon small amounts from unawakened people, animals, and plants—just enough to avoid endangering them, even without conscious regulation.

The skill’s range of absorption appeared boundless. Theoretically, Shin Ji-ho might even be able to draw mana from the entire planet.

‘Careful, careful…’

The amount of mana Shin Ji-ho had gathered this time was slightly less than when he had previously used the skill on a middle school student. Theory and practice, however, were two different things.

The skill description indicated no theoretical limit to the amount of mana Shin Ji-ho could absorb without strain. The problem began to manifest when he accumulated over 1481 mana. He would feel a gradual pain, which intensified into a sensation of his body tearing in two when he absorbed twice that, around 3,000. Ultimately, upon exceeding 5,000, he would promptly collapse into unconsciousness.

He surmised that exceeding 1480—the combined total of his pure physical strength and mana capacity—caused his body to overload. It was a blessing he had tested this in secret; had anyone else discovered it, his sister would undoubtedly have dragged him straight back home.

Regardless, he hadn’t been caught. Shin Ji-ho had therefore gathered precisely 1400 mana, ensuring he stayed well within safe limits. His thoughts had been extensive, yet the actual process of gathering mana took only four or five seconds.

Just as he began to ponder how to distribute this accumulated mana…

Suddenly, an anomalous surge of mana became palpable. It was undeniably a warm spring day, yet a frigid, metallic-scented wind, as though torn from winter, swept through. At the point where the wind originated, space began to rip, little by little, forming a rift.

As predicted, the rift steadily expanded, tearing wider and wider. It stretched, and stretched further, until a polygonal gate materialized before their eyes.

A gate differed fundamentally from an ordinary doorway. It undeniably existed, yet possessed no tangible form to grasp. A normal door would reveal the scenery beyond, but a gate merely showed a turbulent, swirling current, like immiscible paints violently stirred together.

“It doesn’t seem to be B-class, does it?”

Im Seung-ju observed the gate with a cautious expression. As he noted, the mana coalescing around the gate was extraordinary. Crucially, the gate’s color was intensely deep. Typically, higher-grade gates possessed darker hues, with S-class gates appearing almost black. The gate before them was a profound crimson, verging on violet. This undeniably marked it as A-class.

“For now, let’s maintain vigilance and request backup…”

“Is requesting backup truly necessary?”

Heo So-ri cut off Seung-ju, speaking with audacious confidence. Even facing an A-class gate she had never encountered before, her demeanor remained unwavering. To Seung-ju, who regarded her with a peculiar expression, So-ri gestured towards Ji-ho.

“We have our Guild Leader here, don’t we? And you’ve seen the news, Vice Guild Leader.”

“But that news…”

Seung-ju frowned, still seemingly unconvinced. Instead of retorting with her usual ‘Why are you so cynical, Vice Guild Leader?’ attitude, So-ri simply smiled with unwavering assurance.

“Just trust him this once, as if you’re being fooled. There’s nothing to lose.”

Shin Ji-ho found himself unconsciously smiling at So-ri’s triumphant manner, as if his skills were her own. Heo So-ri, who had steadfastly looked out for Ji-ho even when others disregarded him, seemed genuinely delighted by their current situation, albeit not to the same extent as Ji-ho himself.

As they spoke, something long and massive abruptly burst forth from within the gate. Pointed claws adorned its colossal, blunt forepaws, reminiscent of an elephant’s. Each of these obsidian claws was as large as a child’s hand. The monstrous body, gradually emerging, was excessively huge for the gate, seemingly too large to pass through.

Yet, defying all laws of physics, the monster exited the gate. It was the size of a massive cargo truck, resembling a hybrid of a hippopotamus and a deer, though far more grotesque and menacing. Its immense, ponderous black body, like a hippopotamus, was covered in a tough, armor-like shell. A faint magical aura shimmered over the visibly thick armor, likely a defensive enchantment.

From the long, human-sized horns extending from either side of its head, an unknown liquid dripped, and with each drop that hit the ground, the barrier visibly shuddered. Golden eyes at the tips of its strange horns gleamed with an unnerving, chilling light.

This was clearly a different caliber of monster than the lower-grade ones they usually faced. The oppressive, malevolent aura it exuded, even standing still, caused the surrounding mana to tremble. In response, So-ri, who had been so confident, subtly flinched. Seeing this, Seung-ju scoffed.

“Are you still intent on trusting the Guild Leader?”

“Of course.”

Shin Ji-ho activated a skill towards So-ri, who answered without hesitation.

[Star’s Blessing.]